


Hot Under The Collar

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Banter, Confessions, Confusion, Fluff, M/M, Restaurants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus has a crush on his boss, his boss sends him a strange request, and everything just gets messy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Under The Collar

**Author's Note:**

> A commission for abucketofprotons on my tumblr! Enjoy this silly piece.

Rodimus wanted. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to the feeling, but never before had he actually considered that wanting might lead to something. Not that he was getting his hopes up, of course, but Ultra Magnus was special, and called Rodimus himself special, and it was hard to not see where this was going.

He hoped.

It was clear to everyone else where they were headed, in a political sense. Rodimus was shooting straight to the stars of greatness, as it were, talented and smart and naturally charismatic. Ultra Magnus had been looking for a replacement for himself. Sentinel was always bearing his bulbous chin around the offices in hopes of wriggling between them for his chance at the Magnus line, but it was a weak shot at best. Normally these things were handled with cold buisnessmanship, but there was an open fondness between them that no mech in their right mind could hope to break up.

And it wasn’t strange. Things had been changing, for the better, for centuries. The veterans were glad to see the formal diplomacy replaced by something softer and more emotional, a government untainted by war, and the youths were used to nothing less. Cadets these days worried about exams and jobs and love, not death. They lived in a comparatively easier world and it was a great good thing. Ultra Magnus had told Rodimus so many times. It made Rodimus feel more of a pressure to prove his mettle against the hardened elders of the Guard but it was cheap competition more than anything, but it had made him pay very close attention to his superiors, to his Magnus. Before he knew it he was careening off the edge of the beaten path towards success and then straight past it, crashing into a crush.

A crush on the Magnus.

He was terrified.

Ultra Magnus had something in him that was just undeniably attractive. Of course being the Magnus was an immediate bonus for anyone, but it was genuinely more than that. Yeah he was handsome, in an older kind of way, face lined with battle and frame more of a deep matte than the proper shine that was popular now, but that wasn’t it either, at least not in full. He had taken an immediate interest in Rodimus, recognized his cockiness as more than simple overconfidence, his real personality beneath the jokes and the snark.

It didn’t help that his becoming a special interest to the Magnus meant they worked in close quarters for long hours, training and learning. Ultra Magnus was a living encyclopedia of rules and regulations, which normally Rodimus would have fought kicking and screaming to avoid, but they took their time in understanding one another’s points of view, and  that meant more than anything.

* * *

 

He got the invitation in the early cycles of the workday. The common mech might normally question what an elite task force team like Athenia did when they weren’t out kicking in the afts of criminals and Decepticon wannabes in the lower quarters. The answer was often desk work, which Rodimus was not fond of, to say the least. However he was good at his job and this was, droll as it was, an important part of it. He wasn’t at all unhappy to receive the distraction of the incoming mail, however, and any message from the Magnus had to be good.

From the office of Ultra Magnus, Leader of the Cybertron Elite Guard and Cybertronian Senate Proper:

_Rodimus Prime,_

_This is a formal request for your appearance at Ten Five Eight Beta, Restaurant District Nine-Ten this evening at cycle thirty one, sharp. This is a private meeting and your confidentiality on this matter would be best kept at above level six precautions. Your appearance is anticipated._

Being obtuse was not one of his mentor’s strong points, which is why an invitation to a restaurant was possibly the most unexpected thing he could have received. The messenger was some low level cadet who had no insight onto the matter and had simply been sent out of convenience. That alone lead him to believe that it wasn’t information of a pressing subject matter but it was still odd. If he was needed for a briefing then Magnus’s office usually sufficed, or Rodimus’s own as it was beyond several security gates and completely safe. It obviously didn’t pertain to training because a restaurant was completely out of bounds for that and inappropriate to boot (although the image Rodimus concocted of a stunt class being taught there, ducking behind tables to dodge stun level laser fire, was indeed amusing).

It was something new, and that made his spark skip a beat.

* * *

 

He stood awkwardly at the entrance of the restaurant. It was a lot nicer than he had anticipated and he was simultaneously worried for his credit stocks and for his career. Surely being taken somewhere so nice without being given any sign beforehand meant it was a buffer for bad news. But Ultra Magnus was someone who he trusted on a personal level, and it was hard to imagine him having this level of conniving diplomacy beneath his stoic exterior. This was uncharted territory.

“I’m here with someone.”

The bot at the desk smiled flatly, waiting for him to continue and likely only showing the courtesy because of the wings beside his Autobrand. Rodimus popped up on his toes, trying to look over the patron’s shoulder for a deep blue rift in the crowd.

“He might now be here yet…”

“I had not.”

He started, then started again as a thick hand touched his shoulder. Ultra Magnus smiled at their server.

“Two, please.”

Recognizing him instantly, she nodded and backed off into the kitchen where they could see her excitedly pointing and whispering. Someone wearing a small blue badge designating him manager escaped the jumble and approached them.

“Right this way, uh, Sir Magnus.”

They were seated at the back at a startlingly clean table, the illusion only broken by the dampness that still clung to it from its recent and frantic swabbing. Rodimus felt a joke about it bubble and die in his chest, too nervous to decide whether humor would be appropriate here. There was a large wall of glass shapes between them and the other tables, some kind of art piece that separated much of the booths off for privacy reasons, and it almost made him more nervous than being out in public would have. He sat ramrod straight, drumming his fingers on the table. There was a slick mesh cover on both that and the seats, making his aft feel just a little too smooth, and he absently worried he might slide off under the table. Ultra Magnus himself wasn’t much better off, lips set in a grim line but optics soft. He looked as though he was trying to be cheerful after someone had stabbed him in the foot.

“So, Rodimus,” he started, subtly resetting his vocalizer, “did you find the establishment easily?”

Small talk. Rodimus was good at small talk; this was his stomping ground. Strangely, it didn’t make him feel any braver. Swallowing a mouthful of oral lubricants he nodded gracelessly.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah I did.”

He smiled, showing just a tad too little tooth and looking more queasy than pleased. Ultra Magnus twitched, looking away as he pulled the corners of his lips upward.

“Good, that’s good.”

The silence of even a klik weighed like an entire sea between them.

“You come here a lot?”

Rodimus almost bit his tongue off in punishment for the stupid line.

“No,” Ultra Magnus straightened his placemat, “I never have, but my personal guard informs me that it’s safe and… good. I thought it could serve as a kind of middle ground for us.”

“Middle ground?”

“Between work and,” Ultra Magnus actually seemed embarrassed, “personal life.”

Rodimus blanched.

“Oh.”

That could only mean this conversation was going in a few places. The possibilities overwhelmed him for a moment and he gripped the table tightly.

Thankfully, the waiter intervened.

They had a lot of additives for their selection and the menus were brightly colored and out of place in the modernist atmosphere. They were both pleased for the distraction, though Rodimus could not quite tell why his Magnus was. This was by his invitation after all, his decision to talk privately about whatever he had in mind, and Rodimus was only the helpless observer. If anything Ultra Magnus should have been stiffer than usual for being in public, not this strangely absent mech before him reading off a list of low level stimulants. Something was up, and unless he was reading the situation wrong, which was highly unlikely, Rodimus began to wonder if this was, despite all pretenses, moving into the realm of ‘personal life’. He peered over his menu and watched Ultra Magnus lick his finger before turning a page.

“I think the chromium flakes look quite good, don’t you?”

Rodimus stared.

“Sir, are you drunk?”

He hadn’t fully meant to say it but he found it tumbling out his shock-slackened jaw as easily as drool. Ultra Magnus was so surprised that he physically scooted back in his seat, optics wider than Rodimus had ever seen them, mouth parting a little.

“I…”

“No! Wait, I didn’t mean that. It’s just,” Rodimus leaned in and lowered his voice, “are you?”

“No!” he frowned, taken aback, “why would you think so?”

“I didn’t mean any harm or anything, I swear, I just, uhm,” Rodimus twisted at the slipper seat, kicking his legs into the sideboard to keep stable.

“Are you ready to order?”

Rodimus looked up at their waiter as if he had phased through the wall. Ultra Magnus snapped his menu shut.

“Yes. Two of the chromium flake mixes, please, one light on engex.”

Somehow he had managed to completely school his expression between his horror at Rodimus and the waiter’s arrival, a skill that made perfect sense given his position but still gave Rodimus a nasty crack of emotional whiplash.

“That’s for you both?”

If the waiter noticed the tension he did a very good job of keeping it to himself.

“Yes,” said Ultra Magnus, stiff and stony, “and the check as well.”

“No,” Rodimus cut in, confused and unnecessarily guilty, “I can pay-!”

“One check.”

Ultra Magnus suddenly looked as calm and benevolent as he did in their teaching moments, reassuring both the waiter and Rodimus with a simple glance. Rodimus’s spark slowed to a calm hum.

“…Alright, sir.”

They were left alone again. Rodimus stared at his retreating back, gears turning in his head.

“What is this?”

He turned to Ultra Magnus, smiling as if it were a joke but voice clutched by simple sincerity.

“Why are we here?”

The question was a simple one but it held a heavy payload. Not as heavy as he had perhaps anticipated, for even as Ultra Magnus reacted with embarrassment, he seemed more surprised by the question than anything.

“Rodimus, I thought I had made that clear in my invitation.”

Rodimus stared at him, crossing his ankles under the table as feeling began to return to his extremities.

“Clear? There was nothing clear about that invitation in any way, shape, or form!”

Ultra Magnus sniffed unapologetically.

“Perhaps it is simply your low level of reading comprehension that holds you back. No fault of mine was made in the diction nor the composition pf the letter.”

“Somehow I sincerely doubt it was your grammar that would have held you back,” Rodimus slouched back in his seat, arms akimbo.

“That is your opinion.”

“Well then,” he said, “what did your perfectly written literary masterpiece intend to impart upon my lowly, Vandarian-fuzz-worm-like brain module?”

“Your sarcasm is unbecoming,” Ultra Magnus crossed his own arms, no less stiff but somehow still managing to give off the aura of a nervous mech far below his usual emotional threshold.

“Well?”

Ultra Magnus hesitated.

“It was of a… personal nature.”

“I thought you said the nature of this meeting was meant to be a middle ground between work and business.”

“Yes and no,” he said, voice lowering noticeably. Rodimus leaned in without meaning to, intent as if they were in the heat of battle exchanging tactics.

“I meant that it was personal without going too far.”

“Too far.”

The question was obvious despite his flat tone. It wasn’t that he was trying to be as blunt as he was, but Rodimus had never seen Ultra Magnus do such a bang up job of skirting around a point before.

“One doesn’t want to push these things initially,” Ultra Magnus pressed his fingers together as if he were a diplomat upon a podium.

That was when Rodimus began to remember his initial doubts. His spark felt flat.

“Is this some kind of,” he reset his vocalizer, “are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“That depends on what it is you think I-”

_“Is this a date?”_

Immediately after speaking he realized he had half stood up in his seat, hands planted flat on the table. As soon as the words fell from his mouth he stopped, the world stopped, and all there was was the clinking on the cubes at the surrounding tables behind the glass wall and Ultra Magnus’s slackening expression, optics wide and lined. Rodimus crouched there, chest pushing outward with each pulse of his spark, unsure what to do until Magnus spoke again.

“Here are your orders.”

The waiter. For the second time that evening Rodimus looked at him with dumb stillness, but this time he was not alone, Magnus refusing to meet their server’s optics as he nodded and forced a small smile.

“Thank you.”

It was subtle but noticeable to someone who had spent the past few hundred stellar cycles around him. Rodimus continued to remain still, trying to calm himself down as he considered how badly he had just messed up. Their waiter, again being conveniently quiet about the tension but this time noticeably more hurried, placed their cubes down on small square placemats and backed off, not asking if they needed anything else. Their silence was a good enough hint.

“Yes.”

“What?”

Rodimus shook himself from his stupor, still on his knees in the booth seat.

“It is a date,” said Ultra Magnus as he arranged his cube perfectly corner to corner with the placemat, “I assumed that you knew as much. My letter was intentionally affectionate.”

“I,” Rodimus sat down, “oh.”

“ _Your appearance is anticipated_ ,” Magnus quoted, “does that not portray my enthusiasm for our personal outing?”

“Not exactly.”

Ultra Magnus was looking at his own fingers, his thin line of a mouth just barely curved into a wobbly frown. Rodimus couldn’t help but think it was somehow cute, despite the tenseness inside himself. He was still trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

“So… we’re on a date. You asked me out on a date.”

“I thought I had made that clear.”

“You did, you did! I just mean. Wow. Like. A date-date. You’re interested in me… in a romantic way. You like me. You wanna get with this.”

“Yes, although I don’t exactly appreciate your strange euphemisms.”

Rodimus could feel himself starting to smile despite everything. Holy hell.

“So you knew that I liked you all along?”

“Well, you aren’t particularly adept at hiding your emotions.”

Ultra Magnus finally met his gaze, lips curving back up as he saw Rodimus’s toothy grin.

“But you are. Primus beneath us, I thought I was getting demoted or something!”

Ultra Magnus lost his smile.

“What? Why?”

Leaning in, Rodimus poked at the Magnus’s chest with a finger.

“A secretive meeting outside office hours AND outside the office itself? I thought you were trying to be nice about it or something!”

Grabbing the offending finger, Ultra Magnus looked at him with stern fondness.

“I will never understand how someone as smart and talented as you can be such a fool sometimes.”

His grip slowly turned until he was encompassing Rodimus’s hand within his own, warmth spreading into his cheeks as Rodimus squeezed back.

“Wow, you really know how to romance a guy.”

And Rodimus leaned in, knocking his drink all over their table as their lips, finally, made contact.  


End file.
